Just A Low-Flying Star
by PercyWrites
Summary: Dean Winchester is failing his most important subject in his final year of high school, and is offered help in the form of Castiel Novak and weekly study group. When weird things start happening around them, however, Dean is forced to come to terms with Dad's business, Sam's increasing rebellion and Castiel's increasing "family issues". Supernatural High School AU, Dean/Castiel.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

If there was one thing Dean Winchester could hold responsible for causing the mess that was the last five months of his final year at school, it would be the result on the test paper Mr Cavanaugh handed back to him, a disapproving expression on his face.

Dean had never liked math. In all honesty, he'd never liked school, and today was not going to be the day that he suddenly started enjoying learning about how to analyse a picture or how to ask for extra ketchup in Spanish – or, in today's case, how to pass a fairly important math test.

Despite how seriously nerdy it was, Dean still felt that familiar disappointment jolt through him in one quick, painful stab. 34% wasn't even _close_ to a pass. Not that it should matter, but...

"What'd you get?"

Dean looked up from his paper to see Gordon Walker leaning back in his seat, a curious expression on his face as he tried to see the mark on Dean's paper. Dean casually folded the paper in half and tucked it inside his workbook, flashing Gordon a relaxed grin.

"Doesn't matter," he said, pushing his workbook away from him and turning to face Gordon. "You going to practice today?"

Gordon grinned widely, his expression eager. "Yeah," he said happily, nodding as he spoke. "Can't wait. Only a week 'till the game, you know that?"

"Course I know that," Dean scoffed, slinging his arm over the back of his chair. "Been practicing for it enough, past couple of weeks."

"Winchester," Mr Wyatt called from the front of the class, "face the front. You too, Walker."

Walker grimaced and turned in his seat to turn his disinterested eyes to Mr Wyatt. Dean followed suit, allowing himself to shoot a quick smart-ass grin at the teacher before settling back into his usual indifferent, I'm-only-here-because-Dad-would-kick-my-ass-if-I-skipped-again demeanour. Mr Wyatt waited for the class to fall into a familiar almost-silence and then began to pace the front of the room.

"Now, guys," he said, clasping his hands and not looking directly at anyone, "the test I just gave back to you was pretty hard, and I know that. But you had a month in advance to study for it, and don't say I didn't remind you, because I did. The fact that almost half of you failed... it's disappointing, guys." Mr Wyatt turned to face the class front-on, and paused before continuing. "I know some of you" – Dean could swear that Mr Wyatt's eyes rested on him for a moment as he spoke – "find this class difficult, but you need to pass to be able to graduate." His eyes swept the classroom as he paused for another long moment. Dean glanced at the people around him. Two of the smart kids in the class were watching with almost gleeful expressions on their faces. One of the girls looked like she was about to burst into tears. Gordon just looked bored. Mr Wyatt seemed not to notice any of this, apparently caught up in the glory of his own speech. What a douche.

"I'd just like to remind you all," Mr Wyatt said solemnly, "that study group is on every Monday and Thursday. It will help you, guys." He stared very seriously at the class, and then... continued staring. Almost five awkward seconds had passed before Mr Wyatt cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked up toward the clock expectantly. A few people at the back of the class tittered, and Dean saw Gordon smirk in his direction. He made a face at him in reply, then jumped slightly as the bell signifying break rang loudly, blasting through the classroom and piercing everyone's ears with its whiny, metallic undertones. God damn it. What kind of sadistic bastard would put the school bell in the same corridor as all the math classrooms?

Mr Wyatt looked back down at the class, who had already begun packing up and chattering amongst themselves. "Winchester, could you please stay behind?" he called over the babble of the other students, looking Dean directly in the eye. Aw, hell. Wasn't any getting out of this one. Dean glanced at the door anyway, evaluating his chance of escape without detection. As several of his classmates filed out of the classroom and blocked any extra space in the doorway, he began to reluctantly accept that there wasn't any chance at all.

He sighed, then picked up his backpack and shoved his books into it, then grudgingly slung the backpack over one shoulder. As he walked over to the front desk, he noticed that Mr Wyatt was occupied with one of the smarter kids in his class, a guy named Castiel. Dean evaluated the exit again now that most of the kids had gone into the corridor. Maybe, if he was quick about it –

"Dean."

Damn it.

Mr Wyatt was looking at him expectantly, and Castiel just seemed to be looking at him. Dean felt a little uncomfortable. Guy was nice and all, but no normal kid stared at people like that for so long. He grinned at him, injecting a little arrogance to cover up any insecurity that might be showing, then looked back at Mr Wyatt, still wearing the same confident smirk.

"Look, if this is about my test result –" he began, but Mr Wyatt interrupted him.

"Dean, you've failed the past three tests," he said seriously. "We need to discuss this." He looked aside at Castiel, who was watching pretty much without blinking. "Castiel, you're dismissed. You're doing fine, there's no need to worry about coming to group anymore."

Castiel nodded once, then promptly turned around and left the classroom. Dean watched him, frowning slightly. Weird kid. Nice, but weird. Remembering why he was here, he looked back at Mr Wyatt.

"So," he said, shifting his weight. "I failed my third test, I'm not gonna graduate, all that crap. Can I leave now?"

"Dean, have you been having troubles at home?" Mr Wyatt asked seriously, leaning against his desk. Dean felt a shock run through him. There was no way this guy could know about Dad, right? Right?

"No, sir," he said, injecting false cheer into his voice. "Just my lack of math skills. I'll do better next time, and stuff."

Mr Wyatt frowned at him, looking doubtful. Dean stared right back, determined not to let this guy see anything. He couldn't see anything anyway, though. He couldn't have any idea. Finally, Mr Wyatt sighed and looked away.

"If you wanna pass – if you wanna graduate – Dean, you're gonna have to pick up your game," he said, sounding frustrated. "You have so much potential. Use it."

"Yeah," Dean replied, smirking. "Totally worth using." He turned and left the classroom, the smirk still playing on his lips as he walked out the door. As he turned into the corridor, he felt it fade off his face. God, math was so useless. But he needed it. That much was true. He couldn't graduate without it, couldn't join the family business without knowing how to complete ten lines of algebra within two freakin' minutes. Well, crap. Maybe he'd have to do something drastic, like learn how to study or throw himself off a cliff.

"Dean."

"Holy crap!" Dean stumbled back as Castiel stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Jesus, this kid was fast. He looked at him reproachfully, unhappy with the fact that someone had actually been able to get the jump on him. "What, uh... What do you want?" he asked, deciding to go with his tough alpha-male persona.

"You failed your test," Castiel said, looking extremely grave. Dean stared at the shorter boy, trying to figure out if he was taking the crap or not.

"What's it to you?" he said finally, frowning and walking around him. He just wanted to get his crappy burger from the cafeteria, damn it. Why was everyone so obsessed with his mark today? It sounded like some ridiculously convenient plot device for a crappy story or something. He could tell Castiel was following him, and chose to ignore it for the time being.

"You should come to study club," Castiel's voice said from behind him, proving him right. "It will help you to get better marks."

"No thanks," Dean replied, searching for his locker in the hall. "I can study at home."

"Mr Wyatt thinks I should help you with math," Castiel said seriously, as Dean found his locker and approached it. "I could teach you how to study for it, and help with your equations."

Dean concentrated on opening his locker as he digested the fact that Mr Wyatt had actually suggested to one of his students that they, as opposed to a teacher, should help him with his math work. "Why?" he said finally, turning around and glaring at Castiel. "Shouldn't a teacher be helping me with this kinda crap? Why you?"

Castiel paused for a second, looking slightly confused. "You seem to respond better to students than teachers," he said slowly, "but I don't know why Mr Wyatt said I should help you study." He looked off into the distance for a few moments, seeming utterly bewildered. Dean waited for him to come back to earth, but to his slight alarm Castiel's eyes glazed over a little and he didn't seem to be moving anytime soon.

"Uh... Castiel?" Dean said uncertainly, starting to worry a little. "You awake?" He clicked his fingers in front of the shorter boy's face, and Castiel jumped slightly, his gaze refocusing onto Dean's.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head slightly. "Where were we?"

Dean closed his locker and frowned at Castiel, unsure as to whether this guy was playing some kind of weird joke on him or not. He'd talked to Castiel a few times before, but he wouldn't really say they were friends. Acquaintances, yeah. Maybe this was a joke set up by Gordon or someone. Then again, why would a guy this distant and weird want to play a stupid prank on someone he'd barely even spoken to? And what kind of prank is aimed at _helping_ someone?

Dean took a deep breath. "Study group's on Tuesday and Thursday after school, right?" he asked, half of him wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Monday and Thursday," Castiel corrected.

"Oh." Dean nodded slowly, then fell into an awkward silence that was filled with Castiel staring almost unblinkingly into Dean's eyes and Dean becoming more than a little uncomfortable with the small amount of space between them. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

"So, guess I'll see you at study group," he said, repositioning his backpack on his shoulders and beginning to back away as casually as he could.

"Goodbye, Dean," Castiel said solemnly, still watching Dean as he walked away. Dean turned around and walked rather hastily out of the hall and into the cafeteria, a little amused and a lot more weirded out. He didn't know why, but something was weird about that guy. Something about him was just _different_, and he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

_Well,_ he thought to himself with a smirk, _could be the weird way of talking, or the sneaking up on people, or the creepy stare of doom._

Although Dean didn't realize it at the time, he'd just listed the reasons why he would later fall for Castiel Novak.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Like any normal school day, it seemed like an eternity before 3pm came and the student body could all go home and commit the usual petty teenage crimes. When the final bell rang, Dean was more than ready to grab Sam and head home, even if it was just a crappy rental and even if he didn't know if Dad would be there or not. The bell had barely begun ringing before he shoved his English books into his bag and slung it onto his shoulders, standing up along with the rest of the class.

"I want those poems in by Friday!" Mrs Reynolds yelled over the cacophony of thirty-odd students chattering loudly among themselves. Dean said a quick goodbye to the few people in his class he talked to, then hurried out of the classroom, desperate to just get as far away from that English room as possible – and, by default, the headache it had been causing him for the past hour.

He slowed as he got to the corridor – not by choice, more by way of hundreds of kids pouring out of their classrooms in the same half-desperation that he was – and looked through the crowds for Sam as he weaved through the people. Despite his efforts, he couldn't find him. Maybe because the poor kid was so short, even for a freshman.

Or maybe, Dean thought as he saw a small crowd milling around two people, it's because he's about to start a fight.

He shoved his way closer to the crowd of freshman students, trying to get within earshot. He could see Sam now, and could tell he was getting angrier by the second as the other kid – some fat, greasy loser double the size of Dean's little brother – taunted him.

"C'mon, do it," he sneered, leaning into Sam's personal space. "Fight me."

"I'm not going to fight you, Dylan," Sam said through gritted teeth, moving aside to get past the kid. So-called Dylan shoved Sam, making him stumble back. Sam found his feet, and his hands balled into fists. He shoved back at Dylan to move him out of his path and began to walk away. Dean almost let out a sigh of relief, but then the kid made a huge mistake and called out just as Sam was reaching the crowd and just as he could have avoided looking like a complete dick.

"Get back here, freak!" he jeered, and Dean almost felt sorry for the stupid kid when Sam turned around, cold fury in his eyes. Dean struggled to make his way through the gathering crowd as Sam stalked toward the kid, fists balled and face blank with anger. He'd just managed to get through the wall of students when Sam swung his fist with full force at Dylan's face, connecting with his jaw and cracking the kid's head back and causing him to stagger backward and fall. Just as Sam was about to charge at him again, Dean ran in and grabbed his arm, stopping him from doing any further damage. A couple of other freshmen had gone up to Dylan, who looked like he was about to cry where he sat on the floor. Not stopping to apologize or help the kid – hey, you ignore a kid's warnings, you pay full price for it – Dean led Sam away from the scene. The crowd parted loosely for them, probably partially because they were paying attention to Dylan whining behind them, more likely because the fight had ended and freshmen very quickly faded back into general anonymity after they stopped being interesting. As they dispersed back into their own lives and problems, Sam yanked his arm from Dean's grip and glared at the lockers as they passed them.

"So," Dean said casually as they walked, "you gonna tell me what all that was about?"

"No," Sam glowered. "And you didn't need to pull me away like that. I'm fourteen, I know what I'm doing."

"Doesn't look like it, Sammy," Dean said, shaking his head. "What's –"

"Look, can we just go home?" Sam said, his voice taking on a slightly whiny tone. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on it, allowing Sam to lead the way out the doors of the school corridor. He'd seemed really angry lately, though aside from Dylan calling him a freak today, there hadn't been any incidents. Maybe it was a puberty thing, Sam's sudden anger issues. God knew the poor kid hadn't had a growth spurt since he was five. This was probably a good thing. Still, Dean had to look after him. If he got into another fight, Dad would know, and that was one thing neither Sam nor Dean needed at all.

They walked toward Dean's crappy car together, Sam slowing down after about ten seconds of angry striding and stiff shoulders. Dean grinned at him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Well, he won't be calling you 'freak' anymore," he said, laughing. "You got him good, Sammy."

Sam said nothing, but looked up and glared sulkily at him, then shrugged Dean's hand from his shoulder and walked faster to the car, opening the door, somehow _slumping_ into the seat and slamming the door behind him. Dean frowned, grin fading from his face. He hated it when Sam gave him the bitchface. More importantly, it was a fairly obvious pointer that Sam wasn't just unhappy. He was _pissed_. Well, kid wanted to keep it to himself, that was fine. Bury it deep, that's what we Winchesters do.

He went around to the other side of the car and hopped in, pulling the door shut behind him and shoving the key into the eyehole and starting the car. He wondered if Dad would be there waiting for them when they got home.

He kinda hoped he wouldn't be.

* * *

When Dean pulled into Eridan Street, he immediately saw the thing he'd simultaneously been anticipating and dreading. The Impala glistened slightly in the afternoon sun, contrasting greatly with the dirty house it proudly stood guard in front of. Dean sighed inwardly, glancing over at Sam. He didn't look like he'd just been in a fight, just looked like Dean had been poking and prodding at him a little too much. Maybe Dad would call him out on that. Maybe not. But there was going to be something wrong. There always was. There was always something he wasn't doing right.

Dean pulled into the driveway, eyeing the Impala with some envy. No matter how much he neglected so many other things – himself, his house, his own two sons – Dean had to admit that he kept his car in damn good condition, considering he'd had it since the late 70s. He drove it everywhere he went and barely let anyone else touch it, let alone drive it. It was his baby, and dear God, Dean was jealous of a freakin' _car_ for the attention Dad gave to it.

He pulled the keys out of the trash can car that he'd bought for himself (the word "bought" being used in place of "took on a test drive from a shady shop and never returned") and looked over at Sam, who looked marginally pleased now.

"Dad's home," he said, smiling a little and then getting out of the car. Dean followed suit, not bothering to reply. Sam knew that Dean was usually pretty indifferent as to whether Dad was home or not, but he didn't seem to realize how much Dad relied on Dean to look after him, and he certainly didn't seem to know how angry Dad got at him when Sam came home and was hurt somehow, whether it was a small scratch on the side of his hand or bruises from having taken on a provoking bully... again.

He headed toward the door as Sam opened it and walked rather determinedly into the house, keeping up his regular habit of checking that Dad was actually there and the Impala hadn't just appeared there without him by some freak incident. Dean supposed it wasn't that unusual, considering Dad did have a tendency to disappear on them without any indication other than some money on the counter with the usual "be back later, look after Sam" note.

Dean walked into the house, taking his time as he placed the keys on the wall hook – something he hadn't done since... well, since the last time Dad had come home from one of his business trips. He stepped cautiously from the front hall into the living room, where Sam was sitting on the shabby couch across from where Dad sat in his armchair, smiling distantly at his youngest son. He looked up as Dean walked in, and the first thing Dean saw was those tired eyes, too weary to hold anything more. Dean swallowed, then grinned at Dad, keeping a cautious distance between them.

"Welcome back," he said nonchalantly, leaning against the wall and giving his father a completely faked grin. "Nice to have you home again."

Dad stood up with a grunt, nodding at Dean. "I'm off again tomorrow," he said wearily, looking at Dean meaningfully. "I'm only here because I had to check up on you boys. See that you were doin' okay."

Dean shared a look with Sam, who gave him a significant look. _Tell him we're doing horribly. Tell him we miss him. C'mon, Dean, get him to stay._

"We're doin' fine," Dean said unhesitatingly, smiling so his teeth would hide the lie. "Where you going this time? Out west again?"

"Illinois," Dad mumbled vaguely, beginning to walk out of the living room. "Gotta do some... business, y'know..." He walked heavily down the hall, almost dragging his feet. Despite the familiar hurt Dean was feeling at such a quick dismissal, he couldn't help but feel that Dad seemed so much older than the last time he'd been home, so much more tired than a man who ran a "small family business" should have been. Dean didn't know whether he felt sorry for him or angry that he wasn't saying anything.

Then again, neither was Dean himself, but maybe that was something he'd learned from good old Papa Winchester.

A sudden thought struck Dean then, and he walked into the kitchen after his father. He walked casually over to the house phone as Dad looked through the fridge, quietly picked it up and then looked through the recent calls. As he'd suspected, there was one from Lawrence High School. Only about a minute or so long, enough for Dad to know that Dean had just failed his third math test in a row, but not long enough for Dad to have discussed it. Not long enough to care about it.

Suddenly, Dean thought that maybe he'd fail his next test, too.

"Dean."

He set the phone back onto its charging dock and turned around to see Dad regarding him with serious eyes. "Yeah?" he replied nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the slightly dirty counter as if he wasn't hoping against hope that maybe Dad was about to have one of those fabled father-son conversations with him. He waited to be disappointed and hoped to be proven wrong.

"You been lookin' after Sam okay?" Dad asked, looking genuinely concerned through his weariness. "Kid seems a bit off."

Dean let the words sink into his ears and burn themselves into his skin before swallowing down the bitter anger rising in his throat and finding his capacity to reply.

"Yeah," he said simply, nodding once and then beginning to walk away.

"Yes, what?" Dad called after him as he headed down the hallway to his room.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied loudly, opening his bedroom door and slipping into the small room quietly. Yes, sir, I'll look after your son better than you can. Yes, sir, I'll pretend to be you for his sake. Yes, sir, I'll pretend neither of us know or care that I'm failing an essential class.

Yes, sir, I'll do better next time.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Holy blonde cheerleader, Batman, this got eight follows and two favourites within a day! Is that normal? Am I doing this right? Anyway, please don't hesitate to leave me a review pointing out everything that's wrong with this (seriously, people, I _need_your criticism, I feed off it) or just saying hello. I like knowing that you've been here. I can smell your presence anyway, but I don't feel as creepy reading your comments as I do creeping into your home at night and sniffing you. (Mmmm, do I smell strawberries?)  
...This needs to stop. But thankyou all so much for following the story and for adding it to your favourites and all those really nice things I don't really deserve! I appreciate it, and again, feel free to contact me.


	3. Chapter 3

The amount of stares Dean was getting from the general student public was starting to get beyond ridiculous, considering the fact that all he was doing was standing outside one of the English classrooms, waiting for study group to start. Geez, couldn't a guy stay behind at school without being gawked at like he was a circus freak? He leaned casually against the wall and yawned widely, half of him wondering why he'd even turned up here in the first place. Part of him wanted to rebel, to do the normal stupid crap that all the other teenagers did and make Dad worry about him for once. But since he'd woken at 3am last night to the sound of the Impala's roar fading as Dad left them alone again, an increasingly large part of him had been leaning toward the idea of doing better in school. If he managed to at least pass all of his subjects and graduate with okay marks, he might not have to go into the "family business" that Dad had failed to even explain to him. If he did well, he could be a mechanic. He could be something that he didn't feel he was forced into being.

Still, the half of him that wanted to just give up on himself nagged at him as he waited for study group to start.

"Hello, Dean."

The voice was familiar but far too close for comfort, and Dean jumped slightly as the words reached his ears. He looked around quickly and found Castiel standing next to him, staring across the room at nothing in particular. Despite his weird mannerisms, Dean was kind of glad to see him. At least now he wouldn't be the only one getting stared at.

"Hey," he replied, looking him up and down with some surprise. Was he... was he wearing a trench coat? "Nice coat," he commented, raising one eyebrow at its ugly beige colour. Not that Dean was a fashion expert in any way, but there was a point when big coats stopped being cool and started looking downright geeky.

"You don't mean that," Castiel said seriously, still gazing into nothing. "That was sarcasm."

Dean frowned at him, wondering if he was offended, but he just seemed to be completely blank. He decided not to comment, instead falling into a rather awkward silence. Castiel didn't speak again as they waited together for study group to begin, but Dean found a small comfort in not being alone. Sam would be here, but the freshmen had a separate study group to the seniors, so even if he'd wanted to take part in Dean's study group, he wouldn't have been allowed. Having Castiel there made Dean feel like he wasn't so weird. Most of the kids in the hall had gone outside by now, leaving a small group of seniors outside the classroom, still waiting for their supervising teacher to open the classroom. After a few more minutes of awkward silence, the classroom door opened, and a teacher Dean only vaguely recognized ushered them all into the classroom, smiling and revealing stained teeth. Castiel was first into the classroom, and as Dean followed behind him he noticed that he nodded politely to the teacher, as though they were just barely acquaintances – though Dean practically knew for a fact that Castiel was a regular study group patron. Castiel walked quickly over to a double desk at the back of the classroom, and Dean trailed behind him, looking around himself. The classroom was about as familiar as the teacher, the cheesy posters striking up old memories that flickered and fluttered just out of Dean's reach. He let his eyes wander back to where Castiel was sitting, and he was surprised to find the other boy watching him expectantly, having set up his math books in what appeared to be in optimum studying position. He grimaced at the textbooks, then walked over and pulled up a chair, dumping his own books on his side of the desk.

"So," he said, turning in his seat to face Castiel and grinning at him, "you come here often?"

Castiel frowned slightly, looking confused. "I go to study group every time it's on," he said slowly, sounding utterly bewildered at Dean's question. Dean took one look at his expression and snorted with laughter at the pure puzzlement on the poor kid's face. Castiel tilted his head and watched him carefully as he chuckled to himself, then grinned at Castiel.

"Alright, let's get down to business," he said cheerfully, forgetting for a second what their business here actually was until Castiel finally looked away from Dean and flipped open one of the thick math textbooks he'd brought. As Dean eyed the sheer height of the textbook and the tiny size of the font inside, he felt the smile fade very quickly from his face. He groaned when he noticed the stack of even heavier-looking textbooks Castiel had stacked at the corner of the desk.

"Do you even need all those textbooks?" he grumbled, grudgingly taking a pen from the side pocket of his bag and eyeing the textbook warily. Castiel smiled a little, pressing down the middle of the book so the binding would soften and leave the pages still upon the desk.

"It helps," he said, sounding slightly amused. "These books cover most aspects of math that we've learned for the past year and are going to learn through the next two terms."

"Huh." Dean regarded the open textbook with cautious eyes, tapping his pen against the desk. "Right." He looked expectantly at Castiel, who just stared right back at him, his face blank. God, Dean was probably going to have to get used to that expression if he was going to study with this guy. Maybe he was one of those people who had a huge IQ but didn't know how to act in social situations. Well, maybe Dean could teach Castiel how to act normal in return for his studying help. After a few seconds of watching that blank stare, Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably and averted his eyes. "You gonna help me study or what?" he asked, opening his workbook and grinning casually at Castiel. The other boy kept staring blankly for a few seconds, then looked back at his textbook.

"We'll start with algebraic equations," he said solemnly, flattening out the pages of the book and grabbing a pen from his pocket. Dean felt his heart sink at the prospect. Somehow, he didn't think that this was going to help him at all, much less entertain him for the next two hours until study group was over.

"Okay, hold on a second," Dean demanded, running a hand through his hair for what felt like the twelve hundredth time that hour. "So you're saying that you put this over here and divide it by this, and it comes up with the answer to this?"

"Yes," Castiel said simply, nodding as though it was the easiest thing in the world. Dean sighed heavily, slumping down onto the desk and leaning his head against his folded arms. His initial thought of study group being boring had been one hell of an understatement. This felt like the most uselessly time-consuming thing he'd ever done in his life, even surpassing that one time he'd spent almost three hours looking for Sam's supposedly lost wristwatch when he was thirteen and then returning from his search to Sam telling him he'd been wearing it the whole time and hadn't realized because it was hidden under his sleeve. And this didn't even involve any bratty little brothers; only a mildly friendly weirdo in a trench coat who thus far was not making a very good teacher.

"Well, how?" Dean said, frustrated. He pulled the textbook closer to himself for the umpteenth time to check if there was anything he'd missed. There had to be some trick to it that Castiel was keeping to himself. As it was, Castiel was beginning to look annoyed, and pulled his book back to the middle of the table.

"I can't help you if you keep trying to do it all yourself," he said crossly, pulling his chair in a little closer to the table. "It's fairly easy if you just be patient."

"C'mon, Cas, tell me how you do it," Dean complained, leaning back in his seat and slinging one arm over the back of it. "You must have a trick to help me do it, or something."

Castiel stared at him, frowning again and tilting his head slightly to the side. "What?" Dean grumbled, glaring back at him. "I'm not that fussed about your super algebraic secrets, dude, no need to get all touchy."

"You called me 'Cas,'" Castiel said, blinking once in apparent confusion. Dean raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged.

"So?" he replied, lightly scratching at his thumb as he waited for Castiel to stop staring at him and reply – though by now, he knew there probably wasn't much of a chance of Castiel actually replying with anything understandable, if anything at all. Sure enough, Castiel just kept on staring with those intense, bright eyes of his. Dean sighed and looked reluctantly back at the textbook, then glanced up at the clock on the classroom wall. 5:03. Dean almost disregarded it until he realized that this meant he could actually leave. He read the clock again just to make sure. 5:04. He grinned at Castiel, then stood up and closed his workbook, shoving his pen into his jacket pocket and picking up his duffel bag. The teacher, who was doing some kind of work at her desk, didn't look up as Dean threw his books and writing implements into his bag and started toward the door. He was about halfway across the room when he remembered he hadn't seen Castiel stand up or do anything by way of response. He turned around, opening his mouth to remind him that they could leave – and stumbled a little when he saw that Castiel was right next to him. How the hell did he do that?

"We can leave now," Castiel said, looking very serious. "It's past five o'clock now."

"Yeah, thanks for the heads-up," Dean replied, then headed out of the classroom. When he got out of the classroom, he waited a few seconds so that Castiel could walk next to him if he wanted to. Then he realized that was kind of weird, given they'd just spent two hours together. But he didn't keep walking. He waited as Cas walked slowly out of the classroom, shrugging his satchel bag over his shoulder.

"Which way are you walking?" he asked, not quite knowing why. Castiel didn't seem to know why either – and hooray, here came the creepy stare again – but this time was decent enough to reply.

"This way," he answered, nodding his head to the east corridor. Dean nodded as though this was an intriguing piece of news.

"I'm going down this way," he informed Castiel, jerking his thumb toward the north corridor. "Gotta take my little brother home."

"Ah." Neither of the boys moved, though their destinations had been established. Eventually, Dean cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, though now from awkwardness as opposed to math-related frustration.

"Well, uh," he said, with some embarrassment, "thanks for helping me with the, uh, math stuff."

"You're welcome," Castiel replied, very seriously. "Goodbye, Dean." Dean watched in a slight state of bewilderment as Castiel promptly turned around and walked into the east corridor, trench coat fanning out slightly behind him. He watched him walk away until he'd vanished from his sight, then felt really weird for doing it. Guy's habits were probably rubbing off on him already.

Dean turned around and began walking down the corridor toward the younger grades' English classrooms, considering the past two hours as he did so. He wondered if Sam's study group was still going. He wondered why Castiel wore a trench coat.

Simply put, Dean had discovered two things in study group. His first discovery was that either he was terrible at studying, or studying was just stupid to begin with.

His second was that though Castiel was weird and wore more than slightly nerdy clothes, he was fascinating (not to mention a little nicer to have around than his friends), and Dean was beginning to see more and more good in the prospect of finding out more about the boy in the beige trench coat.

**Author's Note:** Hello again! Thought I'd answer some questions for you. In the reviews, people have been asking if there's anything supernatural involved (as in ghosties and ghoulies – I should hope you'd already know what television show this is based around) and if Castiel is an angel. Unfortunately, guys, Castiel is 90% human and 10% cheeseburger in this fic. Sorry if I got your hopes up on that one. As for the supernatural aspect of it... well, you'll have to wait to find out. Same goes for John's business and what it involves – although I can tell you that it has exceedingly little to do with supernatural happenings.

Thankyou again for your follows and reviews. You're all fabulous.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Dean saw Castiel, it was 3:37 on a Monday afternoon in a shady alleyway. He had a knife against the side of his neck and was – though he would never admit it – scared as all hell. Why this guy had chosen him in particular he had no idea, but the fact that Castiel was there somehow simultaneously made things so much better and so, _so_ much worse.

Though Dean only spotted the small group of people when they were ten minutes' drive away from home, he supposed in hindsight that it should have been fairly obvious that this had been set up. When he'd met up with a generally happy Sam after study group finished and walked out to the car, he'd noticed that there was road work going on outside the school that hadn't been there when he'd arrived. But he hadn't thought much of it, hadn't thought much of that small detour he had to take... and the next one, and the one after that. When they ended up in the back streets of the city after taking their fourth detour, Sam finally said something.

"This is really weird," he said, sounding anxious. "That was our fourth detour. What if someone's trying to lead us somewhere?"

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy," Dean replied casually, though he was beginning to feel on edge as well. "How many different kinds of bored would anyone have to be to do that? We're fine."

"Haven't you noticed there's pretty much nobody else driving around here?" Sam said tensely, looking out the window at the dingy apartment buildings surrounding them. "Dean, we need to turn around and take some other way home."

Dean began to say that no, this neighbourhood was fine and there was no way to get past all those detours anyway, but then he noticed a small group of people in a wide alley to the left of the road. At first it looked like just a bunch of people hanging out, but then Dean remembered that people didn't _just hang out_ in this area. As the car drew closer, he saw that they were cornering two smaller-looking people, possibly kids around his age. When the group shifted slightly and Dean could see the victims clearly, he realized those two people were kids he knew – none other than a guy called Ronald Resnick and a girl named Madison, a couple of juniors from school. He slowed the car, bringing it to a stop on the kerb before he remembered that Sam was in the car with him.

"Stay in the car," he ordered him, leaving the keys in the ignition. "If you need to get away, drive."

"What? Dean –" Sam began, but Dean slammed the door of the car shut before he could finish his sentence. He strode up to the group unhesitatingly. These poor juniors were practically defenceless, and Dean wasn't one to let innocent people get hurt for no good reason.

"Hey," he yelled, and the group of people turned around. Now that Dean was closer, he could see there was only four or five of them, but all of them looked like they could take him on. One of them, a tall guy with long hair and a protruding chin, had a knife in his hand. Dean didn't back away. Dealing with nasty strangers from Dad's "business" had taught him to always be prepared to fight, and as he walked, he ran through techniques and steeled himself for a possible fistfight.

"These guys giving you trouble?" he said, nodding toward the two juniors. The guy holding the knife grinned and walked toward Dean.

"You planning to?" he asked, holding the knife at waist level. Dean allowed himself a moment to realize that he looked vaguely familiar, like he'd talked to him once at the store or something. Then the moment was over, and Dean didn't care if he knew the guy or not.

"Only if you make me," he replied, walking toward him. "You should probably leave these guys alone. They're harmless."

"So are we," the guy said, extending his arms in an almost welcoming fashion. "We just wanted to have some fun, is all."

"You call this fun?" Dean said scornfully, coming to a standstill a few metres away from him and evaluating the four other young men who were watching the conversation. "C'mon, man, leave these guys alone. They're harmless, but I'm not."

The guy laughed, playing with the knife and watching the blade whip through the air. Dean felt a little uneasy when he noticed how sharp it looked. He wished he'd remembered to bring his knife, but there hadn't been any signs of danger lately, so he hadn't been carrying it for the past few weeks. He was beginning to regret that decision.

"That a threat, kiddo?" the guy grinned, grip tightening slightly on the knife. Dean stood his ground and hoped like hell that Sam had done as he'd told him to and stayed in the car.

"Only if you make it," Dean replied, grinning emptily back at the guy with the knife and mentally preparing himself to fight. The guy raised one eyebrow and tilted his head slightly to the side, smiling at Dean and looking him in the eye. Then he turned around and walked back to his group and to the juniors.

"Go on," he called, laughing a little as he spoke. "Go home. Don't need you anymore." He waved the juniors off, and after exchanging confused and terrified looks, both Ronald and Madison ran out of the alleyway. The guy stood for a minute, then tilted his head to the side again as he looked at the other four guys, seeming confused.

"You too, merry men," he said to his supposed friends, gesturing to the entry of the alleyway with the hand that was holding the knife. "Off you go. Oh, and there'll be a really crappy silver car with a kid in the passenger seat on the kerb outside. Don't touch it, and don't touch him."

The other young men left more promptly than their near-victims, turning and walking away almost without a second's hesitation. Dean looked on with a small amount of gratefulness for the guy's promising Sam's safety; if this guy could get them to leave that simply and efficiently just by ordering to, he must have enough power over them for them to know not to go anywhere near Sammy. As the guy turned around, however, Dean began feeling increasingly uneasy as he approached with that smug grin still on his face. He began to walk slowly toward Dean.

"You scared, kid?" he asked, throwing the knife and catching it again by the hilt. Dean watched it cautiously, but stood his ground.

"Nah," Dean replied, grinning. "I don't need to be. You don't wanna hurt my brother, you're not gonna hurt me."

In one swift movement, the guy grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and swung him into the wall, slamming Dean's head against the bricks and making him see stars momentarily before his vision settled back to normal and he could see the guy grinning wickedly, inches away from him. Dean could feel the knife pressing into the side of his neck through the material of his collar. Some distant part of him thought that if this asshole had taken a slice at his jacket, he was gonna be furious. For the most part, however, Dean was focusing on angling his knee so it would hurt the guy like hell when it collided with his groin. He bent his leg and began to swing it forward –

"Gabriel!"

The guy jumped, startled, and turned around to face the person who'd shouted. Dean turned his head – alleged Gabriel had him pinned against the wall – and the first thing he saw was unkempt hair, a beige trench coat and wide eyes that flashed with fury even from metres away.

"Ah, Castiel," Gabriel grinned, stepping back and letting go of Dean's collar. Dean dusted himself off, looking between the two in a state of decreasing shock and growing confusion. Castiel glared at the obviously older boy, who sheathed his knife as he swaggered toward him.

"What are you trying to do, Gabriel?" Castiel growled, and though he was shorter than both of them, seeing such a usually neutral guy looking this angry made Dean feel the same kind of unease he'd felt when Gabriel had started grinning at him and playing with his knife. He couldn't figure out whether Castiel's presence was calming his nerves or making them worse.

"Just having a little fun," Gabriel said, a comically innocent expression on his face. "Your friend here started to flirt with me, I played along."

"You think I didn't notice those detours you set up?" Castiel fumed, walking toward his brother and ignoring Dean's spluttering, a reaction both to the explanation regarding the detours and to the completely random "flirting" comment. "Michael's going to know about this."

Gabriel laughed. "Chill out, little lion man," he said, throwing the knife up in the air and catching it this time by the blade. Dean winced in anticipation of the blood spurting from between Gabriel's fingers as the man grabbed the knife, but to his surprise, he didn't even wince.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, and Gabriel turned and grinned at him, flicking the knife up and holding it by the hilt.

"Plastic, kiddo," he smirked, laughing at Dean's stunned expression. "Oh, don't look so surprised. It's meant to be convincing."

"What the hell..." Dean murmured, shaking his head in confusion. "Why would you lead me and my brother here with fake detours just to threaten me with a freakin' plastic knife? Were all those other people in on it, too?"

"Those juniors weren't," Gabriel replied, winking. "Again, the knife is pretty convincing, and my friends get just as bored as I do."

"Go home, Gabriel," Cas growled, glowering at the older boy. "You've had your fun. Leave."

Gabriel sighed, then began walking casually toward the road outside the alleyway. "Fine," he said, smirking at Castiel as he passed him. "You guys were boring me anyway." He disappeared around the corner, and Dean felt a sense of relief that he'd left, though he was still worried for Sam and hoped he hadn't gone off somewhere and had just stayed safe in the passenger seat of his trash can car. He looked from the spot Gabriel had turned the corner and disappeared to Castiel, who still looked like all he wanted to do was kick something. He tried to think of something to say to the boy who'd just saved him from what could've turned out to be a dangerous and extremely weird situation. Maybe something along the lines of, "Thankyou for stopping that really weird dude from doing whatever creepy crap he was planning to do with a plastic knife."

"I wasn't flirting with him," he blurted instead.

Castiel frowned at him, the anger leaving his face and immediately being replaced with confusion. "I know that," he said bemusedly. Dean took a second aside to wonder why the hell he'd said that of all things, then pushed it aside to make room for more demanding words.

"How did you know that guy?" he asked, walking toward Castiel. "You seem to be pretty familiar with him."

Castiel sighed heavily, averting his eyes. "He's... he's my brother," he muttered, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. It took Dean a few seconds to register the information, and even when it sunk in, he still couldn't quite understand how they could be brothers when they didn't even look remotely alike, much less act like brothers at all.

"Why did he...?" He left the sentence hanging and rubbed at his temples, trying to make sense of the entire situation. What the hell could Castiel's creepy, trickster older brother want with him? He and Cas had just barely begun talking last week, and since Thursday's study group they hadn't conversed at all. Dean had spent the entire weekend practicing for basketball and wandering the town aimlessly – and, of course, looking after Sam. He couldn't understand why anyone would want to mess with him like this just for "fun".

"It's his way of introducing himself to any friends I make," Castiel said almost sulkily, looking back to Dean. "He likes to trick them into meeting him under... unusual circumstances."

"I'll say," Dean replied, shaking his head incredulously. "Well, at least you know what he thinks of me now." He grinned awkwardly, but Castiel just stared at him, not seeming to get the humour. To be honest, Dean didn't really understand it either. He looked away and shifted uncomfortably, wanting to thank Castiel for getting his brother to leave but not wanting to make an even bigger idiot of himself. So, instead of saying anything, he nodded at Castiel and walked out of the alleyway, toward his rusty tin can of a car. To his relief, Sam was still visible in the passenger seat, and had locked all the doors and taken the keys out of the ignition. He tapped on the window, and Sam jumped violently, having been crouching quite low in his chair. He looked at Dean with wide eyes, then reached over and unlocked the door quickly. Dean opened the door and got into the car, looking Sam up and down as he did so to ensure he wasn't hurt. His heart ached a little as he saw how scared the kid was, but he couldn't let him know that, or he'd get even more terrified than he already was.

"You okay, Sammy?" he said casually, slamming the door behind him in his usual manner and grabbing his car keys from the middle compartment. Sam looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, then turned hi s eyes straight back to the road.

"Yeah," he said, his voice shaking slightly and stabbing at Dean's heart. How could he have been tricked into this stupid crap? How could he have done this to Sammy, to his little brother who wasn't supposed to be scared, because Dean would always protect him? Guilt-ridden and hating himself for letting himself and Sam get duped into a stupid and dangerous introduction to the brother of a guy Dean barely even knew, he shoved the key into the ignition and thought to himself that if he ever met Gabriel again, he would punch him in the jaw at the first chance he got, brother of a friend or not.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Figured I'd update a bit early, because I don't know if it was the same for you guys, but I've had a pretty crappy, drawn-out week, and if I was following this fic and hoping for an update that might pick up my mood a bit, I know I'd appreciate it if a chapter was posted a bit early – especially when it's a chapter that includes knives and detours and threatening, mildly seedy older brothers. So, here – have an early chapter!

Thanks again for all your lovely reviews and your follows – I assure you, they do not go unnoticed and they certainly don't go unappreciated! I'm writing this purely for you lot, y'know, and your support keeps me writing. Thanks again. You're all brilliant.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

It was 3am on Tuesday morning when Dean made the decision that he wouldn't be hanging out with Castiel again.

Not that he was going to make a big deal about it, but since they'd gotten home after the incident with Gabriel in the alleyway – unsurprisingly, the detours had vanished into thin air by the time they'd turned the car around and headed back the way they came – Sam hadn't uttered a single word, not even when Dean had tried to talk to him. He hadn't eaten since they got back (though that wasn't too unusual, considering Dean had just microwaved one of their stock of many TV dinners for him when it had reached eight and he hadn't looked like he was going to get it on his own), and he'd gone to bed way earlier than what was usual for his night-owl self. When he'd checked up on him at 2am (telling himself that it was for lack of anything better to do but knowing that he just had to make certain Sam was still physically okay), he'd found him sleeping on his side with one hand under his pillow, and knew that it would be closed tightly around the hilt of his knife. He hadn't done that since the last time someone from Dad's business had come after them, and that had been almost four months ago. It always messed the poor kid up, but he'd been getting better. The fact that some asshole with a few fake detour signs could invoke this much fear in his little brother made him sick with anger.

Remembering that said asshole was Castiel's creepy older brother just made the whole thing worse.

It was strange, how quickly Castiel had seemed to consider him a friend. Dean himself was surprised at the fact that he kind of returned the sentiment. For what? For a single interruption in a crowded hallway, for a couple hours after school, for a weird moment in an alleyway? That was just kinda creepy. No, they weren't friends and Dean wasn't going to let him or any of his relatives come anywhere near Sammy again. He had enough to deal with while cleaning up the murderous messes Dad's business left behind. He wasn't about to ask for more trouble by befriending Castiel and attracting the attention of his creepy brother. What if it ran in the family? What if he had more brothers with weirder ways of "greeting" people Castiel knew?

But then again, Dean wouldn't need to worry about that anymore. Not if he was going to ignore the fact that Cas – no, _Castiel _– existed. Sam would be safer that way.

Still, he guessed that if Sam was actually sleeping, it couldn't be that bad.

Dean stayed awake for the rest of the night, waiting for something he knew wouldn't happen and watching beads of light drip down his knife in the pale glow of the dusty lamp on the other side of the room. He wondered what Dad would say if he found out he'd put Sammy in danger again, and it wasn't even related to the business. He knew it would involve getting pissed at both of them and blaming Dean entirely for endangering his little brother's life carelessly and selfishly. Just like always.

Except this time around, he'd be right.

When Dean got to school, he was faced with a new problem that was beginning to trouble him almost more than Sam's reaction to yesterday's incident.

How the hell did you tell someone you no longer wanted their friendship without sounding like a bratty five-year-old?

Since they'd arrived, Sam had seemed to be dealing a little better with his fear, and he'd moved his knife from the pocket inside his jacket to the side pocket of his backpack by the time Dean had parked his car in the school's back lot. Though this was a big improvement on Sam's behalf and one less thing that Dean had to worry about, it was soon replaced by the chagrin of practically having to tell this guy that Mommy said they couldn't be friends – but he halted that train of thought quickly, because it hurt like hell to think about Mom and she hadn't lived long enough to disapprove of Dean's choice in friends anyway. Maybe he could just avoid Castiel for as long as he could, and the guy'd just assume that Dean didn't want him involved in his business anymore and would leave him alone. He was weird and a bit slow on the uptake, but he wasn't stupid. Yeah, maybe if he just left it alone it'd be okay. That worked under most circumstances.

Unfortunately, as the day went on, Dean came to discover that Castiel's case did not fall under the category of "most circumstances."

At first it was fairly easy to avoid him, as Dean's first classes of the day were Spanish and Mechanics. He spent the first half of Spanish dozing through his teacher's explanation of how to demand justice, and the second half was spent flirting shamelessly with the pretty girl whose desk was next to his. He still hadn't remembered what her name was by the time he was in Mechanics and trying not to flirt with his project partner, Benny. Thus far, it hadn't proved difficult, but there were times when Benny just left himself far too open to the occasional suggestive comment. Today was no different. He flirted as per usual, and as per usual all of his implications and comments were met with either a sarcastic reply or a smirk that told Dean that his comments were merely witty and were unappreciated. Though it was annoying to have a constant rebuttal of some pretty damn good pick-up lines, it distracted him from the embarrassing thought of ditching Castiel like a kid – at least, until break, when he saw him sitting alone at one of the furthest corner tables in the cafeteria, poring over a textbook with a familiar and slight frown on his face. It made him feel even worse about telling him they couldn't talk anymore. Maybe Dean was the only person Castiel talked to… or maybe that was a selfish thought and maybe Dean should start paying attention to the kids at his own table because one of them was trying to talk to him about basketball or girls or some other stupid thing that normal teenagers talked about.

By second break, Dean wasn't trying to avoid Castiel. He was trying to find him.

He'd been dreading going to Math after first break and probably having to face Castiel in all his trench-coated, wide-eyed glory, but instead was surprised by the fact that Math had begun and had been in progress for almost twenty minutes before Dean had realized Castiel was actually in class. Granted, he was sitting at the back and Dean had never noticed him much before he'd started going to study group, but it kind of annoyed Dean. _He_ was avoiding _Castiel_, not the other way around. Since when was Castiel the one who was trying to go unnoticed? No, this wasn't right. Dean was tempted to go up to him after class and ask him why, but that'd be throwing his whole "ignore Cas and it will all be okay" plan right out the window. Still, it kept nagging at him through the rest of the class. Why was Castiel being so distant when he'd usually show up at random with the same infuriating lack of understanding about personal space? By the end of Math, Dean was torn between just letting Castiel avoid him – sufficiently ending their friendship with almost no effort on his own part – and getting this crap over with and simply telling him they couldn't be friends. He was almost hoping Castiel would approach him after class, but he seemed to slip out before Dean could pretend not to catch his eye. He wasn't too concerned about it, seeing as they had their next class together, but when he got to English he couldn't find Castiel anywhere around the classroom. It was kind of infuriating. How the hell could this guy just disappear out of nowhere? More to the point, why was he so intent on unintentionally ruining Dean's plans? Avoiding Castiel meant that he had to actually be _there_, and so far, he wasn't playing his role very well at all. When Dean's teacher opened the classroom doors ten minutes late, Castiel still hadn't showed, and by the time the bell went his seat in the back row of desks was still vacant. For some reason, Dean found himself thoroughly irritated by it. Where the hell was he? He was meant to be one of those people that were just kind of always there – you weren't meant to notice them, but they were always somehow there and their presence was something of a quiet comfort to you. Now that Castiel was suddenly gone, Dean was annoyed and a lot more worried than he'd like to think. Guys like him didn't just disappear, and the fact that he in fact _had_ just disappeared was unsettling. Under any other circumstances, Dean wouldn't have looked for him, but today was a seriously bad day for Castiel to go disappearing on him. About halfway through English, he decided that this was too weird for him – and not the normal kind of Cas-weird, the fake-detours-and-fake-knives kinda weird. He decided that he was going to just forget the whole "your brother scared the living hell out of my brother so we can't be friends" issue temporarily and try to find Castiel. He needed to be sure of what he was trying to get rid of.

When the bell rang signifying the start of lunch break, Dean was the first out of his seat and the first out of the class (which, to be fair, was a pretty normal happenstance for said student). He also seemed to be the first to notice that Castiel was gone, damn it, and where the hell _was_ he? He began to walk down the corridor, searching for the giveaway beige trench coat and not seeing it anywhere. There was a moment in which he thought he caught a glimpse of those startling eyes in amongst the throng of students heading out of their classes toward the cafeteria, but they were gone just as quickly, and Dean found himself back to an infuriating square one. Frustrated and now thoroughly confused, he stepped back to lean against a wall (avoiding the general student mass when it was moving toward food was ideal if you didn't plan on getting trampled to death). He really needed to get his thoughts together if he wanted to find Castiel.

Okay, first up – why did he want to find Cas? Well, that one was easy. You don't just sit back and relax when your friend goes missing. But then, hadn't Dean started the day off by deciding that he absolutely could not afford to be friends with Castiel? Hadn't he been trying desperately to avoid talking to him just a couple of hours ago? Well, things changed. There was no point in having gotten so worked up about it if there wasn't going to be anyone there to avoid. Yeah, that was it – Dean just needed to know that he was making all this effort for a reason. Now that that was out of the way, where would someone like Castiel be? Dean was fairly sure that Castiel hadn't been kidnapped or anything – he was too canny for something like that to happen to him easily, and the whole idea was kinda stupid anyway. So why would he just leave? Maybe he was sick or something. Maybe this wasn't anything to worry about at all, and it was nothing to do with Dean or the incident in the alleyway, and Dean was just mistaking Castiel for someone he actually had to worry about, like Sammy. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how creepy he was being. Geez, couldn't a guy go home sick without getting chased down just because he wasn't in class? Dean shook his head at his own weirdness, then realized how dumb that looked and stopped. Well, wherever Castiel was, at least it was someplace where Dean didn't have to worry about avoiding him.

Still, he had to cast one quick glance around the corridor to check that Castiel hadn't materialized somewhere next to him.

When he was sure that he was as alone as you could get in a bustling crowd full of hungry, grouchy students, he turned and headed toward the lunchrooms along with everyone else. He remembered Gordon having told him earlier that today was pie day, and if they didn't get there quickly all the freshmen would take them and act like they had a right to it. This thought fuelled Dean, and he walked slightly faster. There wasn't anybody who had more right to a pie than Dean Winchester, high school senior and master of all pies. He grinned to himself as he turned and began to make his way through the maths corridor. One more hall till he could reach his babies... and eat them. Whoa. As Dean was pondering exactly how messed up that thought was, he glanced to his left to see that the door to his math classroom was open, and Mr Cavanaugh was arguing with someone. Probably about homework, Dean thought as he smirked–

"Mr Winchester!"

Dean stopped and turned around just ahead of the classroom door, only to see Mr Cavanaugh standing at his desk, looking at him with a fairly irritated expression on his face. "Come here, please," he said sternly. Dean frowned in confusion, but walked into the classroom – only to see Castiel standing in front of Mr Cavanaugh's desk, all coat and eyes and messy hair. Dean almost smiled and said hello when he saw him, but then he remembered that he was meant to be avoiding him and stopped himself. He walked up to the desk and stood next to Castiel, who to his surprise shifted further away from him. He raised an eyebrow at him. _What the hell?_ he mouthed. Castiel averted his eyes and stayed silent as Mr Cavanaugh returned to the desk.

"Dean, your friend here has been telling me that study group hasn't been helping," Mr Cavanaugh said, looking at him rather sharply. "More so that you haven't really been helping yourself by going."

"Which is why I don't think I need to go anymore," Castiel said earnestly, staring at the teacher intensely. "If he doesn't want help, I don't need to help him."

"It's not just helping Dean, Mr Novak," Mr Cavanaugh said, looking at Castiel significantly. "You know that."

Castiel didn't reply, but as Dean watched his intense and angry stare turned into a sullen glare directed at the floor. His tense shoulders slumped a little, and Mr Cavanaugh also seemed to relax a little. Dean wondered uneasily what the hell had just gone on, and considered asking exactly that, but then thought better of it. Let Castiel's crap be his own crap. If he wanted Dean to be here, he wouldn't be avoiding his gaze like he was. He looked back to Mr Cavanaugh, who had now turned his stern gaze to him.

"Have you been going to study group, Mr Winchester?" he asked, seriously enough to make Dean want to laugh at him. He pressed his lips together to hold it back, then glanced over at Castiel, who was still avoiding his eyes. He was a smart kid; he probably had a good reason for lying to a teacher like this. Despite feeling kinda betrayed, Dean didn't want to get him in any more trouble than he already seemed to be in.

"Nope," he said confidently, grinning at Mr Cavanaugh. "Basketball takes top priority. Sorry."

Mr Cavanaugh sighed, irritated exactly as much as Dean knew he'd be. "Basketball is not compulsory for you, Dean. Study group, however, is."

"Wait, what?" Dean exclaimed, horrified. Sure, it was okay to go a couple study group sessions once in a while, when he wasn't busy doing things like playing basketball and having friends (even if they were limited mainly to brainless losers and poser girls). But even _more_ compulsory learning, after five hours in the same prison? What kind of monster was this guy?

"The same goes for you, Castiel," Mr Cavanaugh said firmly, sitting down in his desk chair and nodding at them both in turn. "I'll be running study club today, and if I don't see you both there, I'll be calling your pa – your guardians." He looked pointedly at Castiel upon the last word. Castiel glared at him silently, but nodded once, then turned around and left the classroom. Dean shot an indignant look at the teacher, then headed out after him, burning with curiosity and in need of a reason why he'd just lied for someone who'd gotten him into this goddamn compulsory study crap.

"Cas! Hey, stop!" he yelled, as Castiel stalked away from him. He jogged up to him – damn, that kid was fast – and caught him by the shoulder, turning him around. Castiel didn't bat Dean's hand off his shoulder like he'd expected him to, but instead stayed completely still, glaring at him reproachfully. If Dean hadn't been so pissed, he'd have noticed Castiel wince when he drew his hand away.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded. "You said I hadn't been going?"

"I was trying to help you," Castiel replied solemnly, stepping a little closer as he spoke. "You didn't seem to want to be there."

"Yeah, I didn't," Dean said angrily, not backing away. "I appreciate the thought, but what I really don't appreciate is when you manage to score me an extra four hours a week at school!"

"You went along with it, if you don't recall," Castiel answered coldly. "You didn't have to."

"But I did, because it looked like it was important to you," Dean added, glaring at him. "Y'know, I don't know what you're doing or why you've been so weird today, but I think you owe me some answers."

"I owe you nothing," Castiel growled, taking a step closer to Dean and surprising him with a particularly vicious glare. "I was trying to help."

Dean, caught off guard by Castiel's sudden fury, took a step back and raised both his palms in a show of peace. "Alright, whatever," he said cautiously, frowning at him and taking another step back. "You wanna keep your little plans to yourself? Fine. Just..."

Just what? Just stay away from me? Just stop avoiding me? What was he supposed to say when he had no idea what he wanted from Castiel?

"Don't... don't lie about me again," he said awkwardly, wording it like a demand and hearing it like a half-hearted mutter. He tried a warning glare at Castiel, but judging by the smile playing around the edges of the other boy's lips, it hadn't worked very well. Feeling disgruntled and particularly conflicted, he turned and walked away, shoving his hands in his pockets and mentally reassuring himself that he hadn't, despite all Castiel had done, enjoyed the little smile he'd managed to catch at the corners of the liar's mouth.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello! I just thought I'd give you a fair warning - I may be a little late with the next few chapters, as I'll be going through my final exams for this year from November 12th until around the 27th. I need to study, so I'll probably force myself to over the next week or so. I'm going to try and write as much as I can over the weekend so that I can get up to writing the ninth or tenth chapter so I don't have to worry about it over exams, but I'm unfortunately a fairly slow writer, so I'm sorry if I end up updating the fic a little late! If I do, feel free to despise me. I would, were I in your position.

Also, I really enjoy updating early, okay? Especially when my chapter is finished in time. It makes me happy, and I hope it makes you happy. Thankyou all for your follows, reviews and favourites. It makes me so happy to know that you guys are liking this so far! Don't hesitate to point out what you'd like to see in the next few chapters - I'm constantly checking my emails, so I'll catch wind (and now I'm kinda regretting saying that because fart jokes). Don't quite know how to finish this up. I wish I could leave an ice cream here for everyone who reads this. Ice-cream parades are fabulous.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Getting rid of Dean Winchester was proving to be one of the most difficult things Castiel had ever tried – and failed – to do.

He didn't know the reasoning behind it, but as soon as Michael had caught wind of Castiel's tentative initiation of acquaintanceship with one of the Winchester boys, he'd immediately told Castiel that he was dangerous, that his father was involved in the kind of business that had caused their own father to go missing, and that under no circumstances should Castiel even be acknowledging his existence, let alone be attending study group with him. Though Michael probably had a fairly valid point, Castiel couldn't help but wonder how someone as, well, _dim_ as Dean could do any harm to him or – as Michael had so helpfully pointed out – his brothers. Gabriel's little experiment had proved that. Dean had not only left his little brother alone in the car, he'd gone straight into a situation he didn't even need to be in. The problem with Dean Winchester didn't look to be that he was too aggressive and dangerous, like Michael had said. The problem with him seemed to be that he was too protective of others. Castiel highly doubted he'd even known those juniors. It was very strange that he'd been so quick to play the hero and jump into what didn't concern him. If what had happened in the past week was adequate research into Dean's temperament, then Castiel was absolutely certain that he'd have nothing to worry about. Even the way Dean had reacted to Castiel just now – after he'd lied about him and managed to get him into compulsory study group because of that lie – had shown him that he was less needlessly violent than most of the other students his age. Castiel had reacted with more anger than him, and that was entirely unwarranted. He was angry because he couldn't seem to get away from Dean, not because Dean was rightly unhappy that he now had to spend extra hours at school. Though Castiel felt some regret for having scared Dean into backing off, he hoped that maybe it would keep him distant.

Now, as Castiel watched from afar, Dean didn't look scared of him at all. He seemed more frustrated than anything as he talked to his little brother, a likeable boy with floppy hair and a shy smile who was just as harmless as his older brother appeared to be. At the moment, he just looked confused.

"Why is it compulsory?" Castiel heard him say, scratching his head.

"Kid in my class got me in trouble about it," Dean sighed, glancing about him and nearly looking directly at Castiel as he stood half-obscured behind a row of lockers near their study classroom. It was strange, how Dean seemed to always know when he was around. He'd had an easier time eavesdropping on the smartest students in his classes.

But he _wasn't_ eavesdropping, he thought. He wasn't curious and he wasn't sorry for the trouble he'd caused Dean. He was waiting for study group to start, and that was all. There was no reason for anyone – including himself – to think he was spying on Dean Winchester just because he was interested.

"It's okay," Sam said, though there was a slight frown on his face. "There's a study group on today anyway. I can stick around until you're done."

"Yeah," Dean said, sounding disgruntled. "Sorry, Sammy. I'll see you later." He ruffled his little brother's hair, and Castiel almost smiled at the disgusted face Sammy made in response. He had time to see Sam mutter something seemingly indignant to himself before he noticed that Dean was halfway to their study classroom and had to duck back behind the lockers. He opened one of his textbooks and pretended to be reading it as Dean walked just past him and slowed to a stop just outside the study room. Castiel watched from the corner of his eye, telling himself again that he wasn't curious and he was just being aware of his surroundings (though an persistent voice in the back of his head insisted that Dean Winchester did not count as part of Castiel's surroundings). He pretended to read something from his textbook as Dean looked around himself, ignoring the few other students who had shown up and were waiting outside. As soon as he spotted Castiel, he began walking over, and Castiel returned his gaze entirely to his books, letting his eyes slide over the words. He waited patiently as Dean came over and leaned against the wall next to him, wondering if he was going to say anything. There was a silence as Castiel flicked to the next page and skimmed over the words and numbers, and then Dean cleared his throat.

"This is what you do now?" he asked, his voice carefully scornful. "Stand in dark corners and read math books?"

Castiel knew he shouldn't reply. He knew he shouldn't even be acknowledging Dean's existence. If Michael found out he was talking to Dean and not getting as far away from him as possible, he'd give him hell. He'd probably start home-schooling him, for all Castiel knew. But he felt guilty just ignoring someone who'd picked their words and tone so cautiously, had worked so hard to overcome his fairly obvious uncomfortableness and portray a nonchalant and confident attitude instead. So instead of doing as his older brother told him, he replied, "It's a useful technique. I've learned a lot of things in this way." He didn't look up as he spoke, but he knew Dean would probably be frowning. _Really?_ he'd ask, doubtful but interested, and lean slightly forward to see the book for himself, as if the slightly dimmer light withheld all the answers he'd been looking for. Castiel would give him a condescending look, then return to pretending to read, and they'd make the awkward, mainly one-sided conversation that they always managed to maintain –

"Well, that's bull," Dean said matter-of-factly, and Castiel looked up in unconcealed surprise as Dean frowned at him. "You're not even reading that."

Castiel stared at him blankly, slightly bewildered. He'd done it again. He'd gone completely against what he was supposed to be. He wasn't meant to actually _know_ that Castiel was lying. He was supposed to be gullible and self-absorbed and empathetically blind, just like Michael had told him. How was Castiel supposed to keep away from Dean if he could so easily see through him? Castiel considered actually asking him – _why aren't you being what I need you to be?_ – but quickly decided against it, knowing that saying anything would just make Dean think that Castiel actually wanted him around. Instead, he didn't reply at all, and let Dean be confused as he turned his eyes back to his book. Even before this had happened, he knew that the greater part of the next two hours would go on like this – Dean talking, Castiel pretending, Dean catching him out, Castiel silently admitting… and though he wouldn't admit it later to his disapproving brother, he enjoyed the pattern. It was better than talking with his brothers, who either teased him or condemned him, or with his other acquaintances at school, who were usually quite intellectually advanced but weren't as interesting as the boy who knew too much and said too little. Dean was something other than condescending and academic, and it relieved Castiel that he couldn't tell exactly what that _other-than_ aspect of him was. By the time study group had finished, Castiel was forced to pretend that he wasn't enjoying himself. Under the watch of Mr Cavanaugh, they'd had to keep their stunted conversations to clumsy whispers, which was difficult when an increasingly frustrated Dean was trying to argue his point – "how the hell does that even work? That's not how you do it, look!" – and Castiel kept proving him wrong – "it's because you have to divide it by this, not this. That's what you've been doing wrong on the tests." Dean's incensed cussing – "this is bullshit." – had earned them more than a few dirty looks from Mr Cavanaugh, but Castiel found his melodramatic reactions amusing, having to hide a sprouting grin from time to time. Once, he thought Dean might have caught it before he could discreetly hide it, but if he had, he hadn't commented on it.

Castiel had gone home in an undeniably better mood than that in which he'd left this morning, but it left fairly quickly. Almost as soon as he'd shut the front door of their house behind him, his older brothers were on his case. Zachariah was Michael's lapdog today, and as Castiel walked past him in the front hallway of their house he got straight to the point.

"Study group?" he asked as Castiel passed, smiling humourlessly. "Michael's not very happy with you, Castiel."

Castiel didn't reply, concentrating only on getting upstairs to his room and maybe keeping away from the disdain of his older brothers for at least an hour or so. He knew before he reached the stairs that even hoping was a useless effort, but it didn't always hurt to try. He peered out into the main room before leaving the main hall, and saw that only three of his brothers were there – the most pressing problem being that Michael was one of them. He knew he had no choice but to try and slink through the main room before anyone noticed him, and he knew as soon as he started walking that it was an unsuccessful attempt. He considered just dropping his backpack and attempting to face Michael on equal terms, but of course, his oldest brother wouldn't have that.

"Castiel, don't go to your room yet."

He stopped in his tracks, keeping his gaze to the floor, willing himself not to get annoyed at Michael's tone. Looking up, he saw that Michael hadn't even bothered to look at him, his eyes still fixed on the book he was holding. He swung his backpack off his shoulder and set it on the floor, waiting.

"Come here," Michael said emotionlessly, and Castiel obeyed, hating himself for being so submissive. His brother still didn't look up as he came to a stop in front of him, keeping still, waiting for him to say or do something. Finally, Michael sighed and put his book aside, looking directly at Castiel with cold eyes.

"I told you to stay away from Dean Winchester," he sighed, shaking his head. "Look what he's done to you already."

Castiel wanted to ask exactly _what_ Dean had done wrong, but he knew already. He was trying to hide things, he was thinking about things other than school and work and the church. It was Crowley all over again.

"This is Crowley all over again," Michael said, and Castiel almost winced. He hoped Michael wouldn't catch it, but of course, he did, and he dug deeper. "Is Dean some kind of replacement for him? Are you going to try and run away with him, too?"

This time, Castiel flinched, and knew that it was exactly what Michael had wanted. Though he hated to allow his older brother to know where his old wounds could re-open, he couldn't help but hope that it would make him feel guilty. It wouldn't, of course, but it didn't hurt as much if he hoped. He stayed silent and waited again for his brother to dig deeper.

"Well, I suppose it's normal," Michael said softly, smirking slightly. "You just can't keep away from them, can you? You're nothing when someone isn't messing around with you."

Silence, and suppressed words at the back of Castiel's throat. What about you, dear brother? Where's your reasoning, other than that I'm your little brother and I must obey? They burned Castiel's tongue, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes blank as Michael waited for a reaction he knew he wouldn't get. Castiel watched his brother's smile widen as the silence stretched on, and he could see in Michael's satisfied expression that he knew exactly how furious those bitten-back words were, how deeply they stung, how angry Castiel was that he couldn't let them out because of his obedience to his elders.

"You can go now," he said quietly, fairly obviously basking in his own glory. Castiel didn't hesitate to turn around and leave the room, still clenching his teeth against the poisonous words but knowing that they would sting worse if he didn't keep his pace just right or picked up his backpack in the wrong way. Every movement he made here was cautious, and it was still never cautious enough. He was always liable to some form of torture from his brothers, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. There were only ways to quietly rebel against it, and for now, that rebellion seemed more and more to be taking the confusing and entirely ungraceful form of Dean Winchester.

Though his strange relationship with Dean was not Castiel's first rebellious friendship, he was certainly the safest. Crowley had been... interesting. One moment he'd be tricking Castiel into stealing and lying on his behalf, the next he'd chastise him for doing as he'd told him to. When it was all over and gone, Castiel had realized that in his own way, Crowley had been trying to teach him to be disobedient to someone, anyone – "trying" being the key word in this situation. Even befriending Crowley in the first place was rebellious enough at the time that Castiel was almost constantly panicking. After a while, though, Castiel had forced himself away from all contact with the older boy, convinced by his "concerned" brothers that he was far too dangerous and he was making Castiel unhealthy. Now, alone in the cold heat of concealed fury, Castiel wondered why his avoidance had worked so well with Crowley – the one who had all the connections and the capability to manipulate Castiel into doing anything he pleased – but was failing so miserably with Dean. He suspected it had something to do with Crowley simply accepting the fact that Castiel didn't – _couldn't_ – want to be around him anymore, and leaving him be. Dean was different in that he seemed to like knowing when the people he knew were around – and even when he wasn't supposed to know Castiel was there, he'd thus far always found Castiel surprisingly quickly. He supposed there was a lot more to Dean Winchester than he gave him credit for... but then, maybe Castiel just hadn't detected his pattern yet. Once he'd figured Dean out, he'd be able to decide exactly how to get rid of him, for the sake of obedience to his brothers and, as they so often put it, "for his own safety."

It was easier than Castiel had expected to admit to himself that he didn't really want to push Dean Winchester away from him like he meant nothing.

It wasn't just the threatening rebellion against the orders of his brothers. He enjoyed Dean's company, in the same true way that he'd carefully liked Crowley's. He was a genuinely interesting person, and even if he was dangerous... well, it hadn't worked out too badly for Castiel before. It had ended, but only because Castiel forced it to, and only after a long time of quiet friendship that had given him a few good reasons to let his angry words keep stinging the back of his throat. Somewhere in the back of his head, Castiel thought that maybe having a friend – having Dean – would be worth the sharp edges and the cruel words from those he had to figuratively kneel before. And maybe, if Castiel was careful about it, Dean would be able to take the sting of those words away from him. Maybe he could at least distract him for long enough that he'd forget.

Maybe Castiel could learn to like him, if only Dean would stand still long enough for him to see.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Over this past study break, I've learned something that is very important and that will never leave my mind forever.  
_Studying is horrible.  
_At this moment, I'm meant to be studying for a Literature exam I have on Monday, and a Human Biology exam I have on Tuesday. Thus far, I've annotated my set texts twice, and I haven't studied for Human Biology at all. (Hey, I'm not taking it next year and I'm certainly not going to be a doctor unless my partner suddenly tells me it's a kink of theirs, so I'm not worried about that). Again, a warning that Chapter Seven might be a week late or something due to SIX BLOODY EXAMS and me being really lazy and stupid and oh dear lord please don't kill me for being late.  
Thanks for your favourites and reviews and your lovely faces! I'm surprised at how many people are actually seeming to like this. But last I heard, people seem to like terribly written, trashy, predictable high school AUs. Let me know if you guys want anything in particular (but you be patient about the gay smut, okay? It's, er, coming. Hehe). Thanks again!


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

The messy room was dimly lit, and Castiel's lips tasted pleasantly like lavender to a dazed and dreaming Dean.

Somewhere in his waking mind, he knew the feeling of those rough, warm fingers running through his hair and the feeling of Castiel's heart beating steadily in time with his own was too perfect to be real, but for the moment, he could appreciate exactly how good it felt while he was in this reality. They were on a low bed or a mattress of some sort – but to be honest, Dean wasn't paying much attention to what was underneath him in light of the boy who was on top of him. Castiel had him pinned down at the hips, his tie looser than ever and his shirt untucked largely due to Dean's wandering hands, gently caressing his back and hips and tentatively – secretively – loosening as many articles of clothing as possible without actually taking them off. Castiel was gently pushing Dean's jacket off his shoulders, sliding his hand underneath the brown leather and moving it to Dean's neck as they kissed. A hazy idea slipped into Dean's head, and without really knowing that he was doing it, he bit Castiel's lower lip gently, moving his hands to the other boy's hips as he did so. Castiel made a low, rough sound into Dean's mouth and shivered slightly, then kissed him harder, pushing his hips into Dean's. Disregarding his previous method of slowly and sneakily undressing Castiel, Dean pushed his coat off his shoulders with clumsy hands and slid his hands down his back, letting his fingers pull against the material of Castiel's shirt. He held Cas closer as the other boy kissed him down his jaw to the side of his neck, his lips demanding, his teeth faintly scraping his skin. Dean fumbled with the top button on Castiel's shirt, knowing that the rule with these things was when you got past the first button you were in for a heavy makeout session at_ least_ – and with the way Castiel was kissing and touching him, he didn't think there'd be anything less than a whole lot of discarded clothes and touching. The first button came undone under Dean's shaking fingers, and as Castiel's hand slid down his chest to the lining of the jeans he could feel something tightening only a little further down. He managed to get another button undone as Castiel pushed his shirt up almost aggressively, grinding his hips against Dean's and causing him to catch his breath in pleasure and anticipation. He took his hands away from Castiel's shirt for a moment to lift his shirt off and over his head, then returned to his increasingly easy task of removing Castiel's clothes. There was something definitely happening, and damned if Dean wasn't going to act on it as soon as he could get Cas' pants loose –

He woke up with a racing pulse and a head still full of half-formed thoughts and images he did not want to have.

Getting into Castiel's pants? Really? _Cas_, of all people? What the hell did they put into those TV dinners, anyway?

In an attempt to shake the thoughts off, he hauled himself out of bed and walked out of his room into the dingy kitchen, maybe to check for food, maybe to provide a distraction from the place that his mind kept wandering off to. Fridge had nothing interesting in it, like usual. Did Cas get sex hair? First cupboard was bare aside from a couple of almost-empty cereal boxes and a tin of bicarbonate soda. Had Cas ever kissed anybody? Second cupboard had a few spice shakers and a box of muesli bars. Did Cas even know what kissing was? Third cupboard had a half-empty rice sack which, last time Dean had checked, had a gun stashed away inside it. If Dean told him about the dream, what would he do...?

"Stop it," Dean suddenly muttered to himself, furious with himself for even thinking about it. Not that... well, crap, yeah, Cas was kinda attractive once you got past the whole tax accountant look, but... Actually, when Dean thought about it, he was a little more than "kinda attractive". But he _shouldn't_ be thinking about it, because...

_Because he's your friend and if you come onto him he'll think you're disgusting._

Yeah, that could work as a reasonable excuse not to start getting the hots for Cas. He didn't look like the kinda guy who'd beat him up if he tried anything, but he wasn't exactly Benny and he didn't exactly seem like the kind of guy to be in a relationship at all, let alone make out with someone if they offered it and oh god had he just been contemplating asking Castiel Novak to make out with him?

Dean shook his head and sighed, grabbing one of the cereal boxes resignedly – grainy, bottom-of-the-packet cereal was better than nothing at all – and admitting to himself that it was going to be one of those days where he was going to act like a twelve-year-old around some hot eighteen-year-old and probably blush every time Cas talked to him. It had happened more than once before with different people, but Dean didn't worry too much – they hadn't picked up on it, and if they had, it'd been over by the next day and there'd been no reason to worry about it.

Still, usually he'd been their friend for more than a little over a month.

It still felt kinda weird, calling Cas his friend, but that was the only way to begin to describe their weird relationship. They'd attended every single study group (not that they'd had a choice), and every time they'd worked together, if you could call grumbling about math and laughing at Castiel's occasional naivety working. Aside from that, they sometimes hung out at lunchtimes, when Castiel wasn't in one of those moods of his where he'd just kind of disappear and ignore Dean for various amounts of time. It used to make Dean nervous for reasons he couldn't comprehend, but by now he'd sorta gotten used to it. (Well, no, not really, but it was easier to think that he didn't mi... didn't feel kinda weird when he was meant to be there and wasn't.) If he had to pinpoint the moment they'd become friends – or, rather, when they'd started talking regularly outside of study group and their pauses had stopped being awkward – it'd have to be when one day after study group had finished, Dean had somehow managed to leave some of his books behind on his desk.

He'd been eager to leave the classroom, he knew that. Study group usually kinda sucked ass, but today had been the worst. He hadn't been able to talk to Sam beforehand to make sure that he was okay and that he knew Dean was going to study group (he knew, he always did, but what if one day Sam forgot and what if one day Dean's ignorance got him hurt?), he'd just had an English test that had completely burned his brain out, and to make matters worse, Castiel seemed to be in the same kind of mood. When he had managed to bottle his own weariness away for later storage, he began to get curious. He had to appreciate Castiel's effort – he was probably at least _trying_ to pretend that he was reading from his textbooks – but the whole "I'm too angsty to talk to you today" act was getting old, and study group was boring as hell if Castiel wasn't talking. As Castiel angrily flipped a page in his English textbook and glared at it when it bent a little at the edge, he decided that though it was entertaining in a way, it was just going to get annoying really quickly, and besides, he'd never really talked to Cas when he'd been this grouchy before. Maybe it would be funny. At any rate, it had to be more amusing than studying.

As it turned out, it kinda wasn't. Cas just snapped at him at first ("Seriously, dude, what's bothering you so bad?" "You, mostly.") and then ended up just ignoring him when he further enquired. He could at least admit to himself that yeah, that had kinda hurt, but he'd hidden stuff from Cas before too, and it wasn't like Cas owed him anything.

Study group was boring when Dean couldn't distract Cas from his work.

It got interesting – and embarrassingly memorable – after study group, when Dean was excruciatingly bored and desperate to just get the hell out of this classroom. For the past hour, he'd been forced to try and actually study, which hadn't worked out that well for him, and drawing little circles and symbols in his notebook got very boring very quickly, so he'd turned to fidgeting restlessly with his papers and pens, glancing at the clock every ten or so seconds in the hopes that it would suddenly read 5pm and he could leave and start working on his list of excuses to skip out on study group. Practically the second the hour hand shifted with a small _click_ to the 5, Dean grabbed his duffel bag, lunged out of his seat and stalked out of the door, forgetting for the moment his books and his silent friend. He'd been halfway down the corridor to Sam's study classroom when someone – but of course, not just _someone_ – stopped him.

"Dean," said a familiar voice from behind him, making Dean jump about a foot in the air. He turned around quickly, almost ready to start throwing punches from the shock, to see Cas standing right the hell behind him (one thing he would never learn about Castiel Novak was how he managed to pop up so quickly from out of nowhere when he'd been ten metres away a second ago), holding what seemed like an overabundance of textbooks and notepads.

"Damn it, Cas, you scared the hell out of me," Dean complained, running a hand through his hair and glaring at the other boy, who just looked at him kind of blankly.

"You forgot your books," he said impassively, taking the top three books from the pile he was holding and extending his arm to Dean. For a moment, Dean just looked at him in complete bewilderment. First of all, since when had he forgotten his books? Secondly, when did Cas get over that angsty, I'm-a-teenager-leave-me-alone mood he'd been in throughout the entirety of their study period? He blinked, and then decided that the appropriate reaction in this situation would be to thank Cas for his help.

"Feelin' better, sport?" he said instead, taking his books and mentally wincing a second later at his complete incapacity to act like he wasn't a douchebag.

"Marginally," Castiel replied coolly, "although it would help if you refrained from treating me like a complete ass."

Dean laughed, half out of surprise and half from genuine amusement at Cas' abruptness. "Sorry," he said, grinning. "I deserved that."

Castiel just looked at him, his expression not changing except for a small twitch at the corner of his mouth that Dean might have missed if he hadn't caught himself looking for it. But maybe that was okay. Maybe that was how friends acted, maybe these were the kinds of things friends noticed. Maybe Dean didn't have to be uncomfortable. Maybe this was just – it felt weird to even think it – _normal_.

"I would've appreciated it more if you'd just left them behind, y'know," he said seriously, "but thanks for trying, man." He reached out and patted Castiel's shoulder, willing himself not to grin at the increasingly bewildered expression on the other boy's face, then turned around and walked away, shoving his books haphazardly in his bag and feeling like he'd just accomplished something.

So... maybe the dream with Castiel was another one of those normal things, then?

It could be that, Dean decided now, over his bowl of dry cereal at six in the morning. He could just be overthinking the whole thing. It'd been one hell of a dream, sure, but there was no need to get all jumpy about it just because Cas was kinda cute and Dean could kinda appreciate that. He'd heard somewhere that having a dream in which you made out with one of your friends was just a sign that your subconscious was accepting them as your friend, and finding them attractive was completely normal. Not that he actually believed any of that crap, but it made it slightly better to think that he probably wasn't crushing on the only person other than his freakin' brother whose company he actually enjoyed.

Speaking of which...

The comfortable mood that Dean had managed to get himself into drained quickly away into unease. Though finding a way to properly interact with Castiel had been keeping him in a fairly good mood for the past couple of weeks, that had been balanced out by the fact that Sam wasn't acting like normal lately. At first he'd thought it was just a puberty thing – the guy had a right to be pissed when all his friends were growing an inch taller a day and he was still so close to the ground – but he didn't remember having been so unceasingly pissed off at everything when he was that age. It had started small – Sam snapping at him, being unreasonably jumpy, acting personally offended if Dean questioned his choices in food – but Dean had noticed Sam beginning to get more distant and start more fights with the kids in his year. All of this wouldn't have worried him as much if he'd ever actually been able to find Sam when stuff like this happened. It was usually pretty easy to tell where Sam would be after his classes or if he was angry or upset, but lately he'd been getting more and more evasive and Dean had been splitting up his fights and stopping him from getting too angry progressively later as time went on. What worried him even more was that not only had Sam gotten himself into five fights over the past week and a half, but more so that he'd started every one of them. Afterward, when Dean asked him what the hell was going on, he'd just shrug his shoulders and mutter "nothing" while glaring at some inanimate object.

The worst thing about all of it was that Dean couldn't tell what Sam was thinking anymore, and that scared the absolute hell out of him.

"Dean?"

He looked up from his cereal to see his brother standing in the hallway next to the kitchen, bleary-eyed and barefooted and his face the picture of sleepy confusion. The nostalgia of that expression lanced through Dean's heart, and he had to fight to keep himself from wincing. Sam looked so young, so innocent, so _okay_ – so much more like himself than he'd been not only for the past two weeks, Dean realized, but for the past... hell, hadn't it been years since Sam had acted like he was happy, or at least some believable kind of normal?

"What're you doing?" Sam mumbled bemusedly, his eyebrows pulling in a little over his tired eyes, his head tilting slightly to the side as he lazily scratched his head in a gesture familiar enough to add an extra stab of pain to what was already bleeding through Dean. He blinked (_lock it all away kid it can't hurt you if it's all locked up_), then grinned affectionately at his little brother, picking up his spoon.

"Nothin', Sammy," he said, grinning and stuffing an oversized spoonful of cereal into his mouth. As Sam rolled his eyes and turned away to shuffle back down the hall to his room, Dean couldn't help but hope that maybe if he just kept on being what Sam knew him as, then maybe he'd follow Dean's example and go back to normal, too.

Or, at least, their own twisted form of normal.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, uh... can we just pretend I didn't skip out last week's update and maybe please not murder me yet because I haven't finished writing this fic yet? I did try, guys, but the mess of a chapter that I managed to write within an hour when I was meant to be studying was... I'm not even going to mention it. Let's just call it a horrific incident that luckily failed to pass and move on.  
In other news, I'm kinda surprised that I've gotten at least four views on this every day even though I didn't update last week! I'm simultaneously honoured and terrified. I hope you guys don't expect too much from me. This is my first fanfiction, so it's sort of a massive practice run that you all seem to be tagging along with. Thank you all so much for sticking by it - your approval means a lot to me! Let me know in a review if you want to see anything in particular from the fic, and I'll make sure to read and respond to your requests the best I can.


End file.
